Solace Taken
by Pirate's Wench
Summary: Someone offers a bit of comfort in Sweeney's new, sordid life. Possible romance with OC - you've been warned. Comments and constructive criticism, but not flames, welcome. Ch. 10 has a little adult material.
1. Cynthia Van Hue

_Note from the author:_ Hello, everyone. I haven't written a fresh fanfic in a LONG time, but I had an idea for a Sweeney Todd fic that I couldn't get out of my mind.

Now, while time has the illusion of passing very quickly in the movie, I really think the events would have taken a bit more time to unfold. That being said, I'm making time in Sweeney's life expand in this fic and since it's fanfic, I guess that's okay.

Honestly, I wanted to write a little Sweeney "smut" at first, but I think I have more than that developing right now, so we'll see what happens and change the rating or where it may need to be posted as we go. As of right now, it's a general fic with one "adult" chapter – so I'm not sure it warrants an "M" rating…yet.

Yes, I'm adding my own character. No, I do not look anything like her and she's not me. I understand that lots of OC characters are seen as "Mary Sues" and that's fine. Honestly, it's a VERY rare fic indeed with an OC character that isn't one…even Elizabeth seems Mary Sue like in Dead Man's Chest. So no, I probably haven't developed my character into her own as much as I could have, but I'm doing this for fun, so…please don't be cruel to her.

Um, all that being said…here we go. Constructive criticism is welcome…just please don't be cruel! As I said, it's been quite a while… And, yes, I always tend to write Johnny stories that have a new female character in them…they seem to be my niche.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"**Cynthia Van Hue"**

"Mister Todd?" The woman's voice was soft, but undeniably there. "Mister Todd?" Still not having received an answer, she approached the man who was either intensely – or absent mindedly – staring out of the window on the far side of his shop. Lightly touching her hand to his shoulder, she tried to get his attention one last time. "Mister Todd, are you all right?"

The man jumped a little, startled. He turned quickly on one heel, his hand instinctively reaching for the blade attached to his belt. Once his eyes focused, he relaxed his body and placed his hand at his side. "Miss Van Hue," he said sounding quite exhausted. "I'm sorry, you…" His speech drifted off.

The woman blushed ever so slightly. "Again, Mister Todd, Cynthia's fine enough." Her cockney accented voice was warm, but it was obvious that she had made this statement several times and that the man before her never listened. "Are you all right?" she repeated. "I called t' you a couple of times."

"Yes, I'm fine…tired." His pale, sunken face tried to force a smile, but failed. "How much today?"

Cynthia put the basket she had been holding under her left arm down on the floor, her breasts on display as she did so. "Nothin' today, sir. You overpaid on Tuesday, remember?"

He averted his eyes, suddenly realizing. "I know the stains must be difficult."

Cynthia was under the impression that the meat supply in the shop downstairs was coming from a wealthy uncle of Mrs. Lovett's and that Sweeney helped her with the slaughter of the animals. She had taken on his laundry since his arrival in London and the "story" was legitimate enough to work quite well.

She smiled. "It's not my place, sir, but might I suggest a darker colored shirt? Or maybe changing before helping Mrs. Lovett in the bake house?" Feeling that she may have overstepped her bounds, she quickly added. "Don' get me wrong, the pies are delicious, an' you're such a dear to help with the preparation, but…"

"I'll try to be more careful," Sweeney interrupted.

"Right, then," Cynthia said, feeling foolish. "Good day, Mister Todd." She turned to leave, but felt a cool hand on her shoulder.

"I can't let you go…" he whispered, sending chills through her body. "…with nothing." He reached for his pocket, but she stopped him.

"You're very kind, Mister Todd, but you've already paid. I wouldn' want word gettin' round that I swindle my customers."

A genuine smile found its way onto Sweeney's gloomy face – something that rarely ever happened. Truth be told, he didn't mind when Cynthia came through his shop's door. She was sweet, sincere, and always sent new customers in Sweeney's direction. Poor thing… If she only knew what happened to some of them. She did her job well, ridding Sweeney's clothing of evidence and fixing any tears he may have caused by being overzealous. She was pretty enough to turn a head or two, but never fully realized that she could do so. She kept her long auburn hair pinned up and her dark green eyes were always warm and welcoming. Sweeney found it a wonder that there was no wedding ring on her hand.

"Cynthia," Sweeney used her name knowing the effect would be greater. "You're no swindler, an' I…"

As quickly as she could, Cynthia pressed her lips against his cheek. In the mere blink of an eye, she pulled away, blushing deeply, and rushed to the door. Unable to contain a girlish grin, she said, "There, paid in full, Mister Todd." She hurried out of the shop, her skirt almost catching in the door.

Sweeney swallowed and his hand went to where she had kissed him. His skin was warm and he knew that he was blushing. Was she fond of him, or simply trying to stop him from paying her? He insisted it was the former.

The bell to his shop rang out and a customer walked inside, requesting Sweeney's services. He had an exquisite shave…and left with his life. Sweeney's bloodlust had subsided for the day.


	2. Night's Reflections

**Chapter 2**

Cynthia paced back and forth across her modest flat, vocally chastising herself for what she had done. "Kissed 'im…you bloody fool. What were you thinkin'? You do 'is laundry, tha's all." She caught sight of herself in the small mirror on the far wall and she sighed. She had taken her hair down and tangled her fingers in it as she realized what a mistake she had made. It now framed her face wildly and she found herself thinking of Sweeney's own untamed locks…

She was smitten with him and truly could not understand why. He wasn't the most talkative man...if anything, he came off as one of the world's most anti-social people. However, she felt that there was more to it than not wanting to open up to someone. His eyes were full of pain, whether he meant for it to show or not, it did, and she wanted more than anything to know what may have caused it. He was dark and brooding – her polar opposite…and as she thought about it, she began to think that perhaps that was where the initial attraction began. Finally, there was the loneliness, both Cynthia's as well as Sweeney's. His room was almost vacant, save for his barber chair and a small bed. She had taken notice of the pictures he kept near the window and figured that he had suffered a loss, but she never dared to ask. This was where they were somewhat alike.

Cynthia had been engaged to a childhood sweetheart, her truest of loves. Their parents looked fondly on the arrangement and the couple couldn't have been more eager to begin a life together. However, fate intervened. Desmond, the sole winner of Cynthia's heart, fell gravely ill before they wed. Cynthia stayed at his bedside, diligently taking care of him and following every one of the doctor's orders. Try as she did, she was unable to nurse her love back to health. She buried him on what would have been her wedding day.

In the six years that had passed, she also buried her parents and made a life for herself just off of Fleet Street. Doing laundry wasn't the path she had dreamed of, but she found she didn't dream of much since losing Desmond. She had friends and was well liked by those who knew her, but she simply wasn't the person she once was. Meeting Sweeney had sparked something in her…something she hoped would become a friendly kinship, although the attraction she was starting to feel made her think that would now be impossible. She wasn't even sure she could pick up his next bundle of clothing.

When night fell, Cynthia lit a candle and pulled one of her father's favorite books off of the shelf. She curled up in a chair next to the window and began to read, trying her best to push the day from her mind. As she did so, Sweeney busied himself by polishing his beloved razors. He nearly cut himself when Mrs. Lovett burst through the door to his shop.

"Not _one_ today, Mister T?" she asked, trying to mask her disappointment. "I saw the customers come up…an' down."

Sweeney lowered his eyelids, not turning to see her, and answered, "No, not today, Mrs. Lovett." He heard her footsteps and sighed, knowing she was about to pry.

"Wha' made 'em deservin' enough to leave…in tact?"

"There's plenty right now. Use it up first…wouldn' want it t' spoil."

Mrs. Lovett put her hands on Sweeney's shoulders and lowered her face so that her mouth was close to his ear. "If you didn' feel like it today, you could jus' tell me, Love."

Sweeney turned, facing his accomplice. He looked at her, his eyes even more distant that usual. "Wasn' up to it today. Sorry."

"Oh, Mister T," Mrs. Lovett cooed, her mood now changed. "You never need t' apologize. I can' imagine it's somethin' anyone would want t' do _every_ day. We _do_ 'ave plenty down below for now." She stood, satisfied to think she had gotten through to him. "Can I bring you somethin'? Hungry?"

Sweeney shook his head. "Tired. I'm going to bed."

"All right, then." She caught on to his unsubtle hint for her to leave. "Sweet dreams, Mister T." He grunted in response and Mrs. Lovett exited quietly.

As Sweeney undressed, then slid beneath his cool sheets, he once again brought his hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes thinking of the gesture Cynthia had made and, for the first time in ages, fell into a peaceful sleep.


	3. An Invitation

**Chapter 3**

Sweeney had just finished shaving a man, as his wife and son sat across the room, when Cynthia paid her next visit. She averted her eyes, looking at the happy family, rather than Sweeney…and the basket in her hands once they left.

"Good morning, Mister Todd," she finally said, sounding shy and somewhat uncomfortable.

"I've been more careful, Cynthia," Sweeney said, producing two shirts with only a few splatters on them.

"Indeed you 'ave." She had no idea that she had come into Sweeney's thoughts more than once since her last visit a few days ago.

Sweeney couldn't help but notice Cynthia's refusal to look up at him. Thinking that she was perhaps embarrassed, he tried to sound nonchalant. "I…" Nothing would come out. Taking a few steps closer, his shirts extended to her, he saw her face. "What 'appened to you?"

"Nothing," she replied, taking the shirts and stepping backwards.

"Now, we both know tha's not true, don' we?" He wasn't sure why he cared so much.

Timidly, she looked up so that her eyes met his. She could have sworn there was more in his brown pools than the bitter loneliness that usually took up residence. Sweeney could now clearly see bruising on her right cheek. "Landlord wanted more than my money yesterday."

"He 'urt you?"

She looked terribly ashamed. "Not…exactly." She toyed with Sweeney's shirts. "He advances every other month or so, but 'e's never succeeded. I got a little unlucky is all. It was rainin' an' the damned ground was wet. I slipped, me face hit the cobblestone." She sighed. "'E tried again while I was down, but I kicked 'im off."

"He tried to rape you," Sweeney said, seething.

"Didn' succeed, never does. I jus' can' believe I made such a…"

"He shouldn' try." Those eyes that always looked so sad, were now reflecting two things that Cynthia was sure didn't usually belong together…yet, there they were: anger and caring.

"I'm alright, it's nothin'…"

"No!" Sweeney shouted, startling the woman before him. He lowered his voice and clamed himself. "You shouldn' 'ave t' worry about such things." Without realizing it, his hand went to the bruise on Cynthia's cheek. His thumb barely brushed it, but it caused her to flinch. He looked at her, thankful that she hadn't met the same misfortune as his wife.

"Mister Todd," she said softly. He looked at her, but didn't speak. "I'm sorry 'bout the other day. I should never 'ave…"

The smallest of smiles started at the corner of Sweeney's mouth. "Don' give it another thought."

"Right, then." She felt irrational thinking that maybe his smile meant something more…now she felt as though he was trying not to laugh at her.

Sweeney's voice came again, just barely above a whisper. "It was quite…pleasant."

Cynthia smiled, despite her aching face and confused heart. "Are you…tired of meat pies?"

"Hm?" He wasn't sure he heard her correctly.

"You must eat 'em often…an' you don' have any means of cookin' 'ere. I've 'eard tell the pies have gotten much better, but, you see, I was able to get a small goose…" She realized how she must have sounded and she stopped herself, feeling foolish. Sweeney, however, was feeling rather warm.

"Are you trying to ask me to come to dinner?" he asked, his voice colder than he meant for it to be.

Cynthia looked down, more mortified than when she had kissed him. "I'm sorry, sir, I…"

Sweeney interrupted her, "I'm very tired of meat pies."

She blushed and bit her lower lip. "Care t' join me tonight?"

"I'd be delighted." The funny thing? He meant his words.


	4. Dinner

**Chapter 4**

Sweeney stepped into the brisk, evening air, locking his shop's door behind him. His step felt just a little bit lighter than usual, but one would never know it just from looking at him. His face all but set in stone, he walked down the stairs, quite sure that he was about to be interrogated by Mrs. Lovett.

As expected, her voice filled his ears. "Dinner rush ended early t'night, Mister T, but I can make y…"

"Not hungry," he lied.

"Oh." She stood from her place at one of the outside tables. "Fancy a drink then?"

"I 'ave some business to take care of, Mrs Lovett."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "At this hour, Mister T?"

"Yes." He offered no more explanation.

"Well, maybe when you get back then," she pressed.

Sweeney took a shallow breath. "I'm not sure when I'll return, Mrs. Lovett, I wouldn' want you losing sleep tonight waiting for me, as you're up so early."

Mrs. Lovett blushed. "Ain' you sweet, Mister T?" Sweeney forced a smile. "I'll see you in the mornin' then. 'Night."

"Good night." He found himself breathing a sigh of relief as she retreated inside. His feet hit the cobblestone at a quick pace until he was far from the windows of the pie shop. He rounded the corner and his stomach began to turn. He crossed off of Fleet Street and felt as though he was entering another world, though, truth be told, one would hardly notice a difference…perhaps it was _who_ awaited him there, more than the what that made him feel different.

In the row of flats before him, he spotted the one with the rose colored curtains in the window. Cynthia had told him she was in the only flat with that particularly colored tapestry and knowing that she was there waiting for him…made him question absolutely everything. He wrinkled his nose and began to turn back. He had no idea what he was doing there or why she had even invited him in the first place. Why had he accepted her invitation? What if she started asking too many questions? What if she had learned who he really was? 

_This is a mistake. I shouldn' be 'ere. I need to g…_

"Mister Todd?" He remembered why he had accepted. "Have you changed your mind?"

"No," he said, finding himself walking toward her door. "I had jus' realized tha' I didn't bring anything for you."

Cynthia smiled. "I invited you, Mister Todd. I expect no more than fillin' your belly an', perhaps, a little conversation." The woman found herself wanting to embrace the man before her, but she kept her wants in check this time around. "Do come in."

Sweeney walked inside, the smell of goose filling his nostrils immediately. It was such a pleasant aroma after inhaling the scents of Mrs. Lovett's bake house day after day. A crackling fire warmed the small parlor and the atmosphere put him at ease…something he almost never was. 

"Dinner's nearly ready, jus' a moment or two."

"Take your time." Sweeney watched as she walked across the room on her way to the kitchen. Her hair was pinned up, as usual, but he noticed that it was far looser, as though she had only meant for it to be that way for a brief while. She was wearing a dark blue dress, but her apron kept him from seeing it fully. His eyes followed her figure until she disappeared behind the wall. He looked around a little, taking in the shelves of books in one corner, and the sewing station in the other. There were several neat piles of folded garments that she had, no doubt, taken care of earlier in the day. He recognized his shirts as being on the top of one of the piles.

Cynthia walked back out into the parlor and saw Sweeney taking in her home. "S'not much, but it suits me."

"Yes, it does," he commented. "Can I do anything?"

"Yes, you can come an' 'ave a seat." He followed her into the tiny dining room that was beside the kitchen. She had their places set and the food on the table. She removed her apron, her chest now no longer covered, and Sweeney swallowed hard. "I hope you like it."

Happy to be having a different culinary experience, though not quite sure whether he was referring to the meal or his newly found view, he said, "I'm quite sure I will." He pulled her seat out from the table and made the gesture for her to sit. "Ladies first."

Cynthia blushed, taken by the action. "Thank you, Mister Todd."

"How about we drop the 'Mister Todd', hm?"

"You're me customer," she insisted.

"Not between these walls. Sweeney, please," he insisted.

"All right then," her blush deepened, "Sweeney. Thank you." She sat and he soon followed suit. They began to eat in a somewhat uncomfortable silence, neither knowing how to start off the conversation. Cynthia had a feeling that Sweeney was far more uncomfortable than she was, so she tested the waters. "Many customers today?"

The last thing he wanted to think about was his "customers." "Enough," he said coolly. Not wanting to offend her, he offered a small smile. "I'd really rather…hear about you." Did he really mean that? Surprising himself he realized, yes, he did.

"Wha' is it, exactly, you want to hear?"

Sweeney thought for a moment, chewing a moist piece of goose. After swallowing it, he decided. "Why is there no other man at your table?" He saw the look on her face and realized his question may have been far too personal. "I'm sorry, I don' mean to pry. I shouldn'…"

"I…I just didn' take you t' be one for deep conversation."

"Apologies."

She smiled at him. "None needed. I'm actually…rather relieved that I don't have t' fumble through my thoughts on the weather. T' be fair though, Sweeney, curiosity is often a two way street.

He nodded, beginning to think up lies. "Of course."

She began to tell Sweeney about Desmond. He watched her intently as she poured her story out to him between bites of food and sips of wine. He couldn't wrap his mind around how she told him everything so unabashedly. Why did she trust him enough to make herself vulnerable?

As she came to how she wound up where she was, Sweeney learned that she was neither a woman of wealth nor poverty, but in a more comfortable middle due to what her parents had left her. This led Sweeney to another question.

"Why laundry and mending?"

Cynthia laughed. "Why barbering?" Sweeney stared at her, a slightly confused look on his face. "I'm good at it, ain' I? You haven' gotten a shirt back with a rip or a terrible stain, 'ave you?"

Sweeney was the one ever so slightly laughing now. "No, I haven'."

"An' I 'aven' seen a man on Fleet Street or beyond with a bad shave." Sweeney shifted in his seat, but Cynthia didn't notice. "It might not be for me t' say, Sweeney, but I'm comin' t' think that you an' me are quite alike."

"Oh?" 

She answered as she swallowed another sip of wine. "Mm hm." She wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I've seen the pictures in your shop. The woman an' baby. You lost 'em, didn' you? Like I lost Desmond?" Sweeney was silent. "I don' mean t' seem nosy, but…you jus' seem so lost an' alone most of the time an'…"

"I did lose them," he said softly. He offered no more to her.

Cynthia lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry." He looked away, focusing on nothing in particular. "Are you upset with me?"

The man thought a moment, then returned his gaze to the caring soul before him. "No. You told me what I wanted to know about you…I can' be mad for you for asking the same of me."

"I don' need your story," she said softly, "but if you ever need t' tell it…I'm 'ere." 


	5. Unworthy

**Chapter 5**

After much protest, Cynthia allowed Sweeney to help her carry the dishes into the kitchen, however, he was to do no more than that. As he cleared the table, he couldn't help but to feel slightly more…normal. He was in a cozy, well kept home, his stomach pleasantly filled, and he was in the company of someone…who hadn't suggested baking people into their meal. 

He walked into the kitchen and watched Cynthia as she tried to put the mess before her into some semblance of an order. His eyes roamed the curve of her neck as she tilted her head to the side. After some hesitation, they then traveled down further to the swell of her breasts. He placed the dishes on the counter and stood behind her. Cynthia was so caught up in what she was doing that she hadn't realized he was still there. She had a wine glass in her hand and nearly dropped it when she felt the backs of Sweeney's cool fingers trail from the healing bruise on her cheek, down her neck, stopping before they went any lower. 

Her chest heaved upward, tempting him, but Sweeney did not move or make a sound. He found himself in an awkward position that he couldn't quite wrap his head around. An actual attraction was pulling him to the woman before him and he knew that acting on it, even in the small way he just had, was wrong…wasn't it?

"Sweeney?" Her voice was soft and broke the trance he had fallen into. He quickly stepped away from her, retreating to the parlor and making his way to the front door. His hand was on the doorknob, poised to turn it, but Cynthia gently took hold of his arm. "Please don' go."

He refused to look at her. "I shouldn' of done that."

"You didn' do anythin' wrong." On the outside, she was calm, but inside, her heart was racing, longing for more contact with him. Timidly, she put her hand on his face, gently turning it towards her. "I…" No other words came to her; she could only look into the dark eyes returning her gaze and hope that something would come of the moment they seemed to be frozen in.

"I'm unworthy of the kindness you've shown me," Sweeney whispered, fighting the awakening urges in his body.

"Why would you say a silly thing like tha'? You've done me no ill," she said, referring to his actions in the kitchen.

"Nor will I," he replied, thinking of his slain "customers." He caressed her face again, lingering this time. "My life's…complicated."

Cynthia smiled. "Who's isn'?"

"My past's…"

"Your past is long over. Nothin' tha' 'appens now can change whatever 'appened then, can it?"

Sweeney wanted to tell her she was wrong…that killing the man who ruined his life would most certainly make a difference, but divulging the truth about himself wasn't an option. He leaned his face closer to hers and saw her lower lip tremble. God, the sight was inviting. He laid a gentle claim to her lips, a fire inside of him urging to do so much more than that…unlike the crime of passion that overtook him when Pirelli came to visit, he was able to fight this form of passion off…though he wasn't sure for how long. Cynthia tried to part her lips, an invitation to Sweeney if ever there was one, but he let go, warmth filling every inch of him.

"I should go. Thank you for…tonight." 

"Right…you're welcome." He could see that she was trying to hide her disappointment. She walked toward the piles of clothing. "May as well take your shirts while…"

"I'd rather you bring them by tomorrow," he said, the tiniest of smirks on his face.

Cynthia smiled fully, taking this as his wanting to see her again. "Tomorrow then."

"Good night, Cynthia."

"G'night…Sweeney." 


	6. A New Customer

**Chapter 6**

"**A New Customer"**

The streets were quiet as Sweeney left Cynthia's home – all the better for both of them, as they hardly needed any gossip about them swirling about the neighborhood. That pleasant silence was soon broken.

"Li'le trollop 'ad _you_?" A gruff voice cut into what had been Sweeney's pleasant thoughts.

The barber turned, his expression nearly menacing. "'Scuse me?"

"You ain' 'alf the man I am an' she bedded _you_?" The man walked up to Sweeney, gin prominent on his breath. He wore ill-fitting clothing; his face a mess of coarse hair and stubble. 

"No, Sir, she most certainly did not." He thought a moment, the gears in his head turning. "Wha' is she to you?"

The man smiled, his yellow teeth exposed. "Me most stubborn tenant…but she'll come 'round when I raise 'er rent again."

Sweeney's assumptions that the oily man in front of him was the one responsible for Cynthia's face…that he was the one that wished to inflict on her what Judge Turpin inflicted on his beloved Lucy…were confirmed. He smiled, on the inside only. "Fancy 'er, do you?" The man only laughed in response. "I can help you."

"'Ow's tha'? the man asked, intrigued.

"Clean you up a bit," he said smoothly, his charms slipping through.

The man became upset. "Clean me up? You 'ave some nerve!"

"No, no, sir, please believe me. She told me 'erself that if you trimmed your hair an' shaved your face…you'd be irresistible." 

"She said tha', did she?"

"Why would I lie?" The man cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm Sweeney Todd, Sir, barber by trade. I have a shop just over on Fleet Street. Why don' you come by first thing in the morning?"

"I don' need a barber t' shave me face. I can do it for free."

Sweeney was persistent. "On the house then, Sir. The young lady is deserving of you looking…your finest."

"Well…wouldn' want t' dissapoint 'er, eh?" Sweeney had reeled him in. "Tomorrow mornin'?

"Bright and early, Sir." With a simple nod, Sweeney was on his way home, another customer eager for a shave.


	7. Such A Dear

**Chapter 7**

"**Such A Dear"**

"Mornin', Mister T," Mrs. Lovett said, bustling through Sweeney's door. "Thought you might be hungry." She had a plate of eggs in her hands. Sweeney looked up from his chair; he had been making a few adjustments on it. "Well, look at you. Goin' t' use tha' contraption today are you? Thought you said we 'ad enough."

"Special customer today," Sweeney said dryly.

"Oh?" She thought a moment. "Well the judge ain' back from the countryside yet…so someone else ruffled your feathers?"

"Yes." Sweeney walked toward her, taking the eggs…his found his normal appetite was returning, most likely thanks to the meal he enjoyed the previous night. "Based on 'is size, you'll have enough for a few days."

"An' a sore back, no doubt."

"I'll help you."

Mrs. Lovett smiled at the offer. "Guess I'll be seein' you in the bake house this evenin' then." She heard footsteps on the stairs. "I'll jus' leave you to it." She winked and off she went, happy to know she'd be in his company that night.

Sweeney devoured the eggs before him, knowing he wouldn't have much want to eat after he was finished. The landlord walked inside the shop, a sickening grin on his face.

"Make me irresistible, Mister Todd!" he said happily. 

Sweeney put his plate down and motioned for the man to sit. He then walked to the door and locked it. When he saw the man give him a questioning look, he was fully prepared with an answer. "I wish to devote all my attention to you, Sir. No disruptions. I invited you 'ere today and will 'ave nobody intrude on your time."

Satisfied, the man said, "Now tha's some good business sense there; keep your customers happy."

"Indeed." He added, "Miss Van Hue was too shy to tell me your name, Sir, she only let me know you were her landlord. I felt foolish not asking you last night." Normally, Sweeney would have given no thought to who his victim was, but today…was special.

"Bartholomew Coates," he said smugly. "Down to business now, I 'aven' got all bloomin' day."

"With pleasure, Mister Coates." Sweeney draped a cloth around the man's neck, then coated his face in a rich lather. "Your face first, then the hair." Sweeney's hand lowered, caressing the smooth, cool silver of his blade's handle. His mind focused on Cynthia's bruise…on what must have gone through her head each time the slimy human being before him tried to take her. "Tell, me, Mister Coates, do you think forcing yourself on a woman makes you anything more than a worthless piece of shit filled flesh?"

For a moment the man was speechless, but when he found his voice, he was more jovial than Sweeney expected. "A sense of humor as well!"

Sweeney sneered at him, his brown eyes looking almost black. "No." Rather than slit the man's throat, he plunged his blade into his windpipe so that he didn't die, but couldn't make a sound other than a blood drenched gurgle. "How dare you think that you can jus' take a woman," he seethed, venom oozing from his voice. "You think you 'ave power over her? You think it would make 'er love you?" His mind flittered between Cynthia and Lucy…he was having a fine practice run at what he had in store for Judge Turpin.

The man's eyes were wide, tears flowing from them. Sweeney proceeded to make long deep cuts along the man's jaw line, smiling as he did so. "You're nothing, an' you'll never dream of touching 'er again, will you?" Mister Coates shook his head, foolishly thinking he would be given the chance to prove his answer. "T' hell with you!" he screamed, slicing cleanly across the fatty neck, blood spraying him. He smiled as he watched the eyes of a man who had probably already hurt so many others turn lifeless. With a swift movement of his arm, Bartholomew Coates fell head first onto the stone floor of the bake house. Cynthia was safe from him now…she would not be victim to Lucy's fate.

Sweeney quickly cleaned himself up and knew there would be no more unfortunate customers that day. Not a minute had passed since unlocking his door when Mrs. Lovett once again burst through it.

"Took a little longer than usual, didn' it?" she asked, curious.

"It was…personal this time." He thought up a lie as quickly as he could. "'E said Mrs. Mooney's pies were better than yours in front of a slue of people. Can' 'ave that, can we?"

Mrs. Lovett smiled, believing him. "Such a dear you are, Mister T." She picked up his empty breakfast plate. "Such a dear."


	8. Soon

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"**Soon"**

Several more customers passed through Sweeney's door that day. All of them left cleanly shaven and very much alive. Sweeney began to ponder his take on the population of the world then. Was he wrong to think that all people deserved death? That everyone around him was only capable of causing despair to others?

The bell above his door jingled and the answer to those questions walked through the threshold. Cynthia smiled, the action shy and reserved. "Good afternoon, Mister Todd."

Sweeney smiled fully, his face reflecting a trace of what he may have looked like long ago when life was good to him. "Good afternoon."

"You're in good spirits today." She extended his shirts to him and blushed when his hand lingered on hers for a moment as he took them.

"Thank you," Sweeney said, his eyes not averting hers as they had so many times before, "for these, as well as last night. I haven' had a meal like tha' in quite some time."

"Glad you enjoyed yourself." It was obvious to Sweeney that she wanted to say something more, but she stayed silent.

"The company was quite…lovely." He was beginning to feel like Benjamin Barker again…the young, shy man who was a little awkward at first, but would soon find himself charming the object of his affections. That's how it was when he met Lucy. He would stumble over his words or blush uncontrollably whenever she was near, but when he was finally comfortable around her, he was sweet, charismatic, and most importantly, sincere. While the years had robbed him of his youth and most of who he once was, Cynthia was bringing some of it back…little by little…

"I would…gladly cook again, Mister Todd," Cynthia said, eager. "In fact, I eat every night."

Sweeney chuckled. "Good to know."

"I plan on eating…tonight." She bit her lower lip, slightly embarrassed at being so forward.

Sweeney wanted to tell her that tonight would have been perfect, but remembered that he had a rather large body to dispose of. "There's work t' be done in the bake house tonight." He watched as she tried to keep her face from showing the disappointment he knew was there.

"Of course," she said quickly. "I shouldn' of thought…"

Sweeney smiled at her again, the action genuine. "Soon," he whispered. He heard footsteps and backed away from her. Cynthia turned and began to walk towards the door. As a blonde man in his thirties walked into the room, a pleasant smile on his face, Sweeney added, "Good day, Miss Van Hue."

"Good day, Mister Todd."


	9. Late Night Visit

Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"**Late Night Visit"**

As Sweeney helped with the "preparation" of Mister Coates, his mind wandered to Lucy…and Cynthia. He understood that his feelings for her were changing rather quickly. Had the judge not been away, she never would have been more than an every other day distraction from his plan, but now that he had spent time away from his obsessing…he was feeling so much more than vengeance. Those feelings included guilt.

Mrs. Lovett saw the distraught look on Sweeney's face and interrupted his thoughts. "Somethin' wrong, Mister T?"

"Hm?"

"Somethin' botherin' you? You seem…off. Even for you, I mean."

"I'm just…thinkin' about Lucy." This wasn't exactly a lie.

Mrs. Lovett sighed, frustrated. "Mister T, I don' mean t' seem cruel, but you 'ave t' let 'er go. Wha' 'appened wasn' your fault. The sooner that blasted judge brings your daughter back an' ye get rid of 'im, the better. Maybe then you'll stop torturin' yourself so bloody much."

"Maybe."

Mrs. Lovett ground up the last of Mr. Coates, then looked back at Sweeney. "She'd want you t' be happy…Lucy, I mean."

"You don' know that."

"Mister T, when you love someone…you want them t' be happy, even if you're not there t' do it anymore." She looked solemn. "I know Albert would want me t' be happy…he told me so on 'is deathbed." Sweeney saw something wash over Mrs. Lovett's face, but he couldn't quite place what was there. "Your Lucy only wants you an' your daughter t' be happy…an' once you get Johanna back…"

"Yes," Sweeney said softly. He finished cleaning up the mess they'd made of Mister Coates, then helped Mrs. Lovett with the last of the grinding. "Thank you, Mrs. Lovett."

She smiled at him. "Well, thank you for helpin' me down 'ere tonight, Mister T."

"Of course." When all of the work was finished, they both returned upstairs, Mrs. Lovett exhausted, and Sweeney…feigning that same exhaustion. They bid each other a good night and Sweeney, once out of sight, rushed upstairs, quickly and thoroughly cleaning himself and redressing. As quietly as he could, he snuck down the stairs and out into the streets.

He made his way to Cynthia's flat via the alleyway behind it, now deserted. He approached her back door, his spirit light despite the work he had just done. He knocked softly and waited, his mind now only catching up to his body and realizing that…this may not have been the best of his ideas.

Cynthia peeked through the curtains hanging over the small window in the door, then opened it, a surprised smile on her face. "Sweeney? Wha' are you doin' 'ere?"

"I wanted to see you," he said honestly. "I'm sorry for the hour, but the work…"

Cynthia took his hand, gently pulling him inside. "I don' care wha' time it is."

"Cynthia…I don' know what I'm doing," Sweeney confessed. "I meant it before when I said my life was complicated."

"Sweeney, we live in times where nothin's simple. I don' know if either of us is ready t' give someone our heart…but…" Her face was flush and her body tense. "If I'm not mistaken…we're attracted t' one another an'…" Her breath caught. "Bloody hell…I'm no whore…"

Something clicked and Sweeney understood what Cynthia took his late night visit for. "Oh…Oh! Cynthia, no, I…I didn' come 'ere for…"

"I know," she said softly, approaching the man before her. "Tha' doesn' mean you don' feel somethin' now tha' you're here, does it?" She reached behind her, pulling the pins from her hair and letting it fall wildly around her face.

"Cynthia…" She had wrapped her arms around him, his body finally close to hers. He felt her warmth and looked into her eyes. His breathing changed. "We…" He couldn't help himself. He loved the feeling of her body against his. He couldn't help being aroused at the sight of her chest pushed against his, further emphasizing the area he couldn't tear his eyes away from the night before. His body was now betraying the way his mind wished to handle the situation at hand.

He hadn't felt himself harden in so long, he nearly forgot his manhood was there in that sense. His arms were now wrapped around Cynthia, both of them locked in one another's embrace…and he couldn't bare to let her go. He tried his best to will it away, but he had no such luck.

Cynthia smiled, unable to pretend she didn't notice. "'Ow long's it been since a woman's touched you, Sweeney?"

"Fifteen years," he blurted, not able to stop himself.

Her smile grew. "No need t' be embarrassed then, is there?"

_Author's note: The next chapter will be more "adult" in content. Yes, a little Sweeney smut for those of you who were on the lookout for it, thus the rating will be changing. Let me know what you think so far! Not to tease, but it may be a few days before the next chapter's ready._


	10. Now What?

**Chapter 10**

"**Now What?"**

"I…" Cynthia's body was crushing against Sweeney's now; the heat delicious to him, their embrace no longer possibly mistaken for innocent. Very slightly frightened, she pressed her lips to his…the response was unexpected. His grip on her tightened and he kissed her hungrily, greedily. His tongue invaded her mouth and his hand began to roam her back.

Every bit of vengeance and anger Sweeney had been harboring was melting into a lust he couldn't control had he wanted to. He broke away from her lips, fighting himself. He willed his hands away from her body, but they refused to depart from the warmth they had found there. He kissed her again, knowing it was the wrong thing to do…though morals hadn't been his strong suit as of late. Unconsciously, he bit on her lower lip, nearly drawing blood. Rather than pulling away from him, Cynthia reciprocated the action, the slight pain making Sweeney's head swim.

"I fear what I may do should I stay," he said, all but gasping for his breath.

"I don'," Cynthia whispered, her face pink. She ran her hand along his cheek. "Fifteen years is a long time, isn' it?"

"Haven' thought about it much 'til recently," he confessed, his arms still tightly wrapped around her.

"Twenty-one years if you add us together."

Sweeney's mindset went back to the innocence of Benjamin Barker for a moment. "You said you weren't wed."

Cynthia blushed, a sly smile on her face. "Fortunately, me an' Desmond snuck off a few times…else the poor love would of passed on without…"

"Oh…"

Cynthia felt she had just ruined what the next few moments could have turned into and quickly became defensive. "Least I'm not sellin' me goods at the docks."

Sweeney understood, his naivety leaving as quickly as it came. "I wasn' implying that." He ran his index finger down her throat, the action causing her to close her eyes. "It's heaven t' be with the one you love…to share their body an' their breath…" Sweeney's words were making Cynthia swoon. "I'm glad you had the chance."

"As am I…" She opened her eyes, locking them with Sweeney. "Although…passion alone has its place at times, doesn' it?" She could still feel his length pressing against her.

Rather than answer, Sweeney claimed her lips again, the action still filled with greed. He had been robbed of so much, hadn't he? Fifteen years rotting in a cell. Fifteen years of fighting daily to keep his body his own. Fifteen years of wondering "what if"…believing that when he found his way home all would be as it was…only to find despair awaiting his return. Yes, much had been taken from the shell of a man who wandered London's dirty streets…and killed what he saw as its filthy population. Now, however, Sweeney had the chance to take the woman before him, making her body his and _giving_ him something, whether it be right or wrong, rather than something else being taken away from him.

"Yes," he finally answered, his voice low, "it does."

Now rather nervous, Cynthia broke from Sweeney's embrace and took his hand in hers. Her heart racing and her mind scolding her, she led him to her bedroom. The room was small, but inviting, just as the rest of her home. She let go of his hand and, putting her back toward him, began to remove her dress.

"No," Sweeney said, his voice much colder than he intended it to be. She froze, unsure of what he was objecting to. He moved toward her, pressing his chest to her back. "Twenty-one years, remember?" he asked, his voice warming. "A little longer won' 'urt." Casting right and wrong aside, as he had been doing in his shop nearly every day, he let his eager hands rest on her shoulders, then glide downward over her restrained breasts…further down to her stomach, and further still, to the tops of her thighs protected by her skirt. She gasped and he smiled at the sound…it had been so long since he'd heard such a noise. "Touch me," he whispered, an order more than a request.

Without hesitation, Cynthia reached behind her and stroked his restrained length. Sweeney twitched and growled at the contact. She groped at him, knowing that it would make him want her even more. "Now me," she begged.

Sweeney began kissing the side of her neck as his hand left her thigh and stroked between her legs. She moaned softly and her hips bucked forward, excitement making her flesh rise. Flashes of the years passed blazed through Sweeney's mind, confused feelings of love and rage mingling with his newfound lust. Lucy could not condemn him from the grave and the judge could not take this moment from him. Everything happening right now was his for the taking…and taking was most certainly what he wanted. He let out the sound of an animal before spinning Cynthia in his arms and frantically grasping at her clothing. Within moments, her chest was bare before him and he latched onto her lips as his hands groped unabashedly.

Cynthia, understanding that there was no changing her mind, did the same, removing Sweeney's vest and shirt. She didn't question him about the scars she saw on his firm, pale chest; at the moment nothing mattered but having contact with him. She kissed him wantonly, fumbling with his belt as Sweeney ridded her of her skirt. Neither of them remembered falling onto the bed.

Sweeney's lips seared her skin as he kissed his way to her breasts, nipping her once arriving there. He nearly screamed when her hand found his bare length and began to slowly stroke him. "You've possessed me," he snarled, taking his length into his own hand and rubbing it along her opening. She cried out as he gently pushed himself inside her…that gentility soon faded.

The pale barber, who so often looked void of any emotion, began to thrust his hips in a violent fashion, his body uncontrollable. He cursed and groaned as sensations long forgotten swept through him. Cynthia's legs were wrapped around his waist, she was enjoying everything just as much as the man above her. She felt a tingling begin to fill her and she knew what Sweeney was bringing her to. Sweeney felt the change in her body's tension and smiled to himself. She bit down on his shoulder as she tumbled over the edge, the act pulling Sweeney along with her and causing him to scream into the pillow her head was resting on.

As their breath came in pants and their hearts began to settle, Sweeney thought about what he'd done. His actions weren't tender as they once were with Lucy, but the pleasure gained was far more than enjoyable. Had she not consented though, he realized his actions were no better than someone taking a whore in an alley…or worse…doing what the judge had done. Feeling suddenly ill, Sweeney rolled off of Cynthia, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and put his head in his hands.

Concerned, Cynthia placed a warm hand on his back. "Wha's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," he said, tears of anger stinging his eyes. "Tha' was…it wasn' right."

"Felt right," she said, her tone light. "I know wha' you're thinkin'."

"No…"

"Yeah, I do," she insisted, "an' it wasn' nothin' like tha'." She put her hand on his chin and tilted his face towards hers. "I wasn' expectin' romance or anythin' of the like, Sweeney. After fifteen years…the animal in a man prevails, don' it?"

"I'm no better than your landlord," he uttered, disgust in his voice.

"Far better lookin' than tha' brute, eh?" No response. "Come on, then, you're not s'posed t' brood after somethin' like tha', are you now?"

"How can you be…so…fine with…" He made to get up, but she stopped him.

"Sweeney, it's been years for the both of us…you can' deny tha' it felt good, can you?" She saw him blush. "Tha's right." She got back into bed fully, and patted the mattress beside her. "You didn' 'urt me."

"You bit me," Sweeney said, accepting her invitation.

"Well, it was either tha' or screamin' t' the 'eavens…an' the neighbors don' need t' know wha' we're up to." She winked at him. "Besides…you seemed t' fancy it."

Sweeney thought for a moment, realizing that she was right…he had liked it. "Wha' now?" he asked, resting his head on her chest.

Cynthia was silent. She was playing things off so well…so casually. Making light of everything made Sweeney feel better rather than worse, so she kept it up as best she could. "I do your laundry…you dirty it."

"Tha's not wha' I mean." He sounded distant again…as he had so many times in his shop before they'd begun to grow closer.

"I know." She ran her fingers through his hair and she felt his body relax against hers. "I don' 'ave the answer t' tha'…jus'…don' go yet." She felt foolish for letting her heart speak out those few words.

Barely more than a ghost of a sound, she heard Sweeney reply, "I don' want to."


	11. A Little Solace

**Chapter 11**

"**A Little Solace"**

A few hours had passed before Sweeney awoke, convinced beyond a doubt that he had dreamed of his unconventional night with Cynthia…however, as soon as he registered the warmth beneath his cheek, he knew at once that his dream was most certainly reality. He was still in her arms, his head nestled against her left breast, and his entire body felt at peace. He thought back to his behaviors and the tiniest of smiles crossed his pale face. She had enjoyed them, and, after the guilt had faded, he realized he had as well – very much so, in fact. He had the strongest of feelings that one encounter would not be enough for him.

Cynthia stirred and her eyes opened. She blushed as her gaze fell upon Sweeney. "Didn' think you'd still be 'ere," she confessed softly.

"Wasn' sure I was ever actually 'ere to begin with," he answered. His eyes closed involuntarily as she ran her fingers through his white shock of hair, the feeling rather soothing.

"Will you ever tell me wha' did this t' you? I know it's not me business, but…"

Sweeney's eyes opened and he moved from her embrace, taking her into his own. "Perhaps some day," he lied, the answer good enough to appease her. Her head rested on his chest now and he knew she was looking at the scars there. "The stories are one in the same," he whispered.

"Poor man," she cooed. "I don' imagine the story will 'ave a pleasant endin'."

"It's beginning to improve."

Cynthia smiled, but it soon faded. "Streets'll be bustlin' soon. You need t' slip out before anyone can see you."

Sweeney looked at the clock on the far wall. It was a few minutes after four and the merchants of London's streets would, indeed, but setting up their businesses before long. Sweeney felt suddenly uncomfortable. He couldn't simply say "thank you" and be on his way…handling the current situation was not coming easily to him. "Cynthia…last night…it…" He didn't even try to continue.

Cynthia rose from the bed, taking a blanket with her as she went. Sweeney watched her leave the room, assuming she was ashamed or angry, though she returned too quickly for him to decide on which it was. "It was nice," she said, trying to complete his thought for him. He saw that she held something in her hand. "I imagine you're not lookin' for a place for your heart, an' I understand tha', Sweeney, both our hearts left us with our loves…I see it in your eyes." She sat down next to him again. "But I also know tha' last night…it put a little somethin' back in them…an' it made me feel…less lonesome. I know I probably sound daft t' you, but…'ere." She took his hand and placed a key inside of it. "Like I said, I'm no whore, but I'll be more than welcomin' of your company should you decide you wish t' come back."

One small, metal object had just made Sweeney's head swim. He was just given an open invitation to what London may have seen as quite the scandalous affair. Good thing Sweeney would always know how to dispose of any of its possible witnesses. "You don' 'ave to give me this."

Cynthia let the blanket fall away from her as she crawled to him. She cupped his face and kissed him, her body aching. She pulled away, smiling. "Trust me, I do. Jus' remember, you 'ave no obligation t' use it."

"I can' use you," he said, wishing that he were someone else completely.

"It's not usin'. You an' me…we deserve a little somethin', don' we? Life wasn' fair t' me, an' I 'ave the feelin' it's been far more than cruel t' you. Jus' a little solace for the both of us, hm?"

It was Sweeney's lips taking initiative now; he couldn't even remember leaning in to kiss her. "Yes," he whispered. "Solace…"


	12. Quick Thinking

**Chapter 12**

"**Quick Thinking"**

The early morning air was brisk and stung Sweeney's skin as he walked. He kept to the shadows and the few people that were already out on the streets had no idea he was among them. As he got closer to the pie shop, he saw that that Mrs. Lovett was already rambling about it – he got the feeling that she didn't sleep all that much at night. Knowing that she would likely see him, as that seemed to be his luck with her, he made a quick change of plans and didn't return until a few hours later.

Sure enough, as he started toward the stairs, she all but flew from the shop doors. "Mister T, where've you been so early?"

Sweeney was carrying a small parcel and held it up for Mrs. Lovett to see. "Supplies," he said, his voice void of emotion. "Needed them before I opened today."

"You know you can send Toby t' do tha' for you."

"The boy's better help to you than me, Mrs. Lovett. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to…"

"Of course, Mister T," she interrupted. She couldn't help but notice that Sweeney looked a little different, but she decided not to say anything. "Tha' one from last night should last the dinner rush."

"Yes." He said nothing more as he retreated up the stairs. Sweeney began to rethink his new "calling" as it were. He began to wonder if, perhaps, he should be more selective of his victims. He was thinking a little more clearly now and began to realize that, at some point, suspicion would have to be aroused. After all, if a husband tells his wife he is going for a shave, then never returns…then another…and another…well, wouldn't suspicion fall on the barber to which he was said to be going?

When he first began taking the lives of his customers, Sweeney didn't give two thoughts to any of it. He was only biding his time until the judge passed through his door…after the falling apart of Sweeney's plan when Judge Turpin finally did so, he took Johanna and left for his countryside estate – its location a well kept secret. Knowing that he would, indeed, return with his daughter, Sweeney mercilessly killed, filling the center of Mrs. Lovett's pies with no qualms…until now.

The judge was taking a little longer to return than Sweeney had hoped, and dozens of men were now "missing." He had to tone things down for the sake of releasing his daughter from the vile man who'd taken her. Then, of course, there was the little matter called Cynthia, the unexpected distraction. For fifteen years, Sweeney had dreamed of being with his Lucy again, of having his family back in tact, but that was never to be his reality.

"Forgive me, my love," Sweeney whispered. He had made his way to the picture frame that held his shattered dreams. "I'm sorry." He leaned against the wall, frame in his hands, tears forming in his eyes. "You were my world…why did you 'urt yourself?" He imagined what she must have gone through after he was taken away and his pulse began to race. "I tried…every day I tried to get back to you, I swear it." Guilt again ate at him for what he'd done the night before. "She's not you – she'll never be, but…" He willed Lucy's voice to come from the photograph, to tell him that it was all right, that she wasn't angry…but only silence filled the room.

A few customers came and went that morning, most of them unnerved by Sweeney's lack of conversation with them. Benjamin Barker was always more than cheery with his customers, going on about one thing or another, but Sweeney Todd…if he didn't slice your throat, he certainly wasn't one for idle chatter. A little after one that afternoon, a man walked through Sweeney's door. Well built, but unkempt, the man had a wild look in his eyes…a look Sweeney knew from catching sight of himself in the mirror.

"Aftanoon, Barber," he said, his accent thicker than most others.

"Good afternoon, Sir," Sweeney said, cocking his head. "How may I assist you?"

"I need t' look differen'. Chop off me hair, get rid o' me beard." The man had long, dirty blonde locks that fell below his shoulders and a beard that looked as if a small bird could nest in it.

"A lady, Sir?" Sweeney asked, interested for a change.

The man laughed. "Lady's dead an' gone…an' I'll pay you well t' say I was ne'er 'ere."

Internally, Sweeney smiled. "I don' service criminals."

The man pulled a blade from his coat pocket and held it up threateningly. "You'll service me, Barber, an' you'll be lucky t' 'ave your life when I leave."

Just like that, Sweeney's problems were solved. "Apologies," Sweeney said, faking fear as best he could. "Sit, and I will take care of your…most dire needs." The man sat and Sweeney did, indeed, cut his hair and begin to shave him – it would save work in the bake house – but as he placed his blade against the man's neck for the third time, he smiled. "Never threaten a mad man with more cunning and skill than yourself." The man looked at Sweeney questionably, then the blood that had been brining Sweeney so much joy poured from him…only the joy wasn't all there. As he sent the man through the floor, he didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs. He had turned to face the window, contemplating his new, unfortunate clientele, and had only now heard the last footstep before the door opened.

The bell sounded, and her voice filled the room. "Afternoon, Mister Todd." He could hear a queer happiness in her tone, as though she were doing all she could to hide it from him.

He looked down at himself. The only place the condemned criminal had bled on him was his right sleeve. Thinking quickly, he cut into his forearm, not making a sound as his did do. "Cynthia," he said, turning quickly.

Her eyes went wide as she saw his blood soaked sleeve. "Wha' 'appened? Are you all right?" She dropped her basket and rushed to his side.

"I slipped," he said, his voice calm, "while I was sharpening my blade." Luckily he had actually been doing so before the last customer arrived, so the scene looked believable. "I'm fine, really."

"Fine? Tell tha' t' the puddle at your feet!" She began making such a fuss over him that he felt a little sick. "Please sit an' let me take a look." She ushered him into his own chair and rolled up the sleeve he had cut through.

"Cynthia, really…"

"Shh." When her eyes met his, he understood that he may be in some trouble. There was an unmistakable amount of care in those eyes, and, for one fleeting moment, he saw his Lucy's eyes. "I wouldn' take you for one t' 'ave an accident like this," she said, her tone sweet rather than stern.

Sweeney smiled at her, causing her to blush. "I was distracted." It wasn't exactly a lie.

Cynthia laughed. "T' be fair, I stitched a pair of trousers t' me skirt this mornin'." She looked at the wound as she cleaned it. "But I didn' draw blood."

"I promise, I'm all right."

As Cynthia wrapped his arm, she deemed the wound shallow enough to avoid sewing up her lover like his shirts, she said, "Well, you may be all right, but I think this shirt's seen better days. I don' know if I can save it."

"Well, you've saved me, so it's a good trade." Cynthia took this comment as referring to his wound, while Sweeney realized he may have meant something else entirely.

"Mister T, I was just…" Mrs. Lovett saw Cynthia, Sweeney, and blood and that was all that her mind took in. She didn't register that Cynthia was alive and Sweeney was in his own chair. "Oh, you didn'!" she shouted…only then beginning to process what she was looking at.

"Just a cut, Mrs. Lovett," he said quickly. "Miss Van Hue just 'appened along at the right time."

She breathed a noticeable sigh of relief, thinking now only of their secret being safe. "Well, tha's a bit of luck indeed." She walked over to survey Cynthia's handy work, wishing she had been the one to apply it. "I'll take things from 'ere, Dear. Wouldn' want you fallin' behind on your customers."

Cynthia backed away, swearing that she saw disappointment in Sweeney's eyes. She returned to her basket, taking Sweeney's laundry out and leaving it on his bed. "Good day t' you both," she said before leaving the shop.

"Good day," Sweeney said rather quickly. "Thank you." He was glad to see her smile at him before disappearing from sight.

"Mister T, wha' did you do?" Mrs. Lovett asked, now wanting the truth.

"I was careless," he said, his voice once again colder. "I lost track of myself after I sent the last one through the floor. The cut was to cover it up."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. "Good thinkin' on your part, Mister T, but you 'ave to be bloody careful – could've been anyone comin' through tha' door."

"Yes, you're right."

"For a moment, I thought you were doin' the poor girl in – didn' think you were _tha'_ mad."

Sweeney was relieved for two reasons. First, he had gotten out of a rather messy situation with Cynthia – she was none the wiser to what had truly happened. Secondly, Mrs. Lovett didn't seem to think anything of Cynthia's being there and tending to him.

"No, I'm not," Sweeney said. He paused a moment, then added. "Mrs. Lovett, I propose a change in business."


	13. A Change in Business

**Chapter 13**

"**A Change in Business"**

Sweeney was sitting across from Mrs. Lovett, her eyes wide. They had gone down to her parlor, at her insistence, and she was now trying to wrap her head around what Sweeney had just suggested to her.

"Mister T…'ow much blood did you lose exactly?" she asked, her tone sarcastic.

Sweeney was exasperated, as he'd been pleading his case to her for nearly an hour now. "Mrs. Lovett, you 'ave to see my point, don' you? Or would you rather be put to death once we're found out, hm?"

"It's jus'…Oh, Mister T, you were on a bloody rampage after the judge left 'ere! You were quite certain tha' every bloody person in London deserved death and tha' arrangement is workin' pretty well for us, ain' it?"

"Judge Turpin is taking too bloody long getting back 'ere!" Sweeney arose, his temper rising. "I won' loose my daughter again, understand?"

Mrs. Lovett sighed. "You sound like you want t' be a…" She paused, searching for the right word. "…vigilante now, Mister T. Bit of a drastic change…or else you're not as mad as you were a couple weeks ago."

"Nobody will miss them," Sweeney said, pacing. "Nobody will care if a pickpocket or a rapist goes missing, will they?"

"An' jus' 'ow do you think you'll get them upstairs, eh? Criminals don' much care about their appearances."

Sweeney smiled, the look on his face sinister. "That's not your concern, Mrs. Lovett."

"This better keep me business up," she muttered.

"I'm more concerned for my freedom than your business…you'd best think the same way – don' think they won' hang a woman."

They heard the door to the pie shop open and Toby's voice soon followed. "Mum! I got the flour for you!"

"Be righ' there, Love," Mrs. Lovett called to him. She looked at Sweeney, hoping that maybe her guess about his madness waning was, indeed, the case. "All righ', Mister T, new business it is." She then left Sweeney to himself.

Sweeney made his way back to his shop, his thoughts whirling. He felt the dense key that would allow him into Cynthia's home moving just a little in his pocket. That key was now going to open more doors than he could have imagined.

_Author's Note: Your reviews keep me going, guys! I have lots of ideas, let me know if you want to see them!_


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